


A Blow to the Head

by Catchclaw



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Groundhog Day, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 06:13:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3279755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once Dean sees a sign for a place called “Gobbler’s Knob," he just has to pull over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Blow to the Head

**Author's Note:**

> For my friend Sarah, on her birthday. Hope you don't mind the utter absence of plot.

Once Dean sees the signs, there's no question: they're stopping.

"Hey," he says. "Sam! Wake up."

Sam doesn't stir. Stays balled up like a window sash against the passenger's side door, snoring in the starlight.

"Hey!" Dean says again, winging Sam's arm without taking his eyes from the road. "Dude! Wake the fuck up!"

"Wha--?" Sam says. "Wha da huh?"

Dean points at the sign as they make the turn, as he aims the car off the highway and onto the exit ramp. 

_Gobbler's Knob!_ it says in big, friendly letters. _Home of Punxsutawney Phil!_

"What," Sam says, flat as a pancake. "Dean. It's April. Groundhog Day's in February."

"So?"

Sam rolls around in the seat, it feels like; working himself up to indignant, no doubt. "So, why are we going to Gobbler's Knob in April at two o’clock in the damn morning?"

Yeah, hearing Sam say it is like ten times funnier than it'd sounded in Dean's head.

"Seriously?" Sam says, raising his voice over Dean's cackles. "That's why we're going? Because you have some Beavis and Butthead complex?"

"Come _on_ , dude," Dean says. " _Gobbler's Knob_? That shit is comedy gold. Who names a town like that on purpose?"

"It's not a town," Sam says, going straight for his mental encyclopedia. Dean can practically hear the pages flipping. "It's a place. The town's called Punxsutawney. Like the Phil. Didn't you read the sign?"

"Saaaaam," Dean says, drawing the word out in the dark. "Gobbler's. Knob. The Knob of the Gobbler. A knob that needs to be gobbled."

Sam snorts, tries to cover it behind a cough. Badly.

Dean pumps his fist. "Ah ha! See? You're laughing! Because it's funny."

The streetlight catches Sam just right and Dean gets a sideways look at his smile, stupid with sleep. "I'm laughing because it's _dumb_ ," Sam says, smacking Dean on the shoulder. "I can't believe you woke me up to look at a groundhog. Who's probably asleep, anyway. Sheesh."

"Pfftt. You're dumb," Dean says, cheerful. "And I woke you up because you're gonna blow me. Right here at Gobbler's Knob."

" _What?_ " Sam spits out, but that's all he can manage before Dean swings into the parking lot in front of a big, fake-looking tree stump. The thing is lit up with a couple of thready streetlights and crowned by a sign, one with a photo of a giant rodent that says “Home of Punxsy Phil!” Other than that, it’s empty, of course, being two AM in the middle of April. And quiet, the kind of silence that makes the air inside the car ring the moment Dean kills the engine.

"You're not serious," Sam says. 

The words are iffy, maybe, but the tone is right, one Dean's just starting to get used to: amused, a little, with a side of incredulous and a double shot of turned on. 

This is something Dean's learned about Sam, in the month since they started fooling around: sometimes, even if he wants it, Sammy needs a little push. And not a subtle one, either. Most of the time, dude needs an anvil.

So Dean grins, wide and knowing, and shifts his hips under the wheel, working the seat just enough for Sam to get a look at his jeans, already tight and hot around his dick.

"I'm not blowing you just to satisfy your, like, inner 12-year old or whatever!" Sam says, his breath a little faster now. Yep, Dean thinks. Promising. "God, man. Come on."

Dean leers at him, lets his smile light up the front seat. "Aw, it sounds so dirty when you put it that way. I gotta admit, Sammy. I kinda like it." 

Sam's watching him now, with that close intense hello that Dean really fucking loves. Hell yes. Progress. So he feeds it, goes with it, kicks his legs over the gearshift and settles so their knees are almost touching. Almost.

"Mmm," Dean says. "See?" He lifts Sam's hand off the seat and drapes it over his crotch. Arches into Sam's fingers, his cock fat and warm under Sam's palm. "I really like it, baby.”

The thing is, Sam may need an anvil, sometimes, but Dean digs it, that he never has to play games. With Sam, he can be as subtle as a blow to the head and just ask for what he wants, straight up. It does something to Dean, getting to be so open, so eager. It's not like he's been shy before, exactly, but he's never been with somebody who gets off as hard as Sam does on being wanted.

Sure, he might make a face when Dean waggles his eyebrows at the bed or drops some cheesy come on, but in the end, Dean's learned that Sam freaking loves it when Dean starts something between them.

Hell, maybe he'd been waiting years for Dean to crawl into bed with him, like he had back in Boise. For Dean to start a wrestling match under the covers, one that got wicked fast and ended with Dean's hands pinned over his head as Sam rocked against him, moaning into Dean's mouth as he came all over Dean's thigh.

Maybe. Who knows? Most important thing Dean's learned, though, is that when he lights the match, Sam's the one who'll start the fire. The one who'll unzip his jeans and let Dean suck him stupid, or who'll hold Dean in his lap after dinner and jerk him off slow, whispering dirty shit in his ear until Dean can't help but give it up all over Sam's hand.

Even here, in freaking Gobbler's Knob, Pennsylvania, at two thirty in the morning, all Dean has to do is rub two sticks together, practically, and Sam'll take over from there.

Sam leans over him, hums in his ear. His hand twitches and then his thumb's turning, rubbing slow, deep circles over the head of Dean's cock.

"Oh," Dean says. He grins, his whole face tipping into a smile. "Oh. Sam."

"Yeah," Sam says. "Like that, huh?"

"Yeah," Dean breathes, tilting into the touch. "That's good. So good, baby." He gets a fist in Sam's t-shirt and turns his head, lifts his face. "Kiss me, huh? C'mon. Kiss me.”

Sam swoops down, eager, and when their mouths meet, he makes a noise that shoots right to Dean's knees. Hell, kissing Sam on a good day is like standing on the edge of a skyscraper, seeing the ground so far below and feeling that tug in your gut that says jump. And shit, it's hard to resist when the ground is rushing up to meet you, arms open and tongue falling all over your own.

Dean's dick is good and stiff already, and he's hot, damn, his whole body feels like a bulb, bright and stuttering. But Sam keeps kissing him, keeps teasing him. Snakes an arm around Dean's shoulders and pulls him close, closer, and for a second, it's almost too much.

"Oh," Dean says, his mouth stumbling, his cock shivering. "Oh, _fuck_." 

Sam laughs. Dips his head and sucks a rose in Dean's neck. "Yeah?" he says again. Starts rubbing Dean faster. "You wanna come like this? Shoot off in your pants like a little kid?"

Dean twists his head, hell, his whole body, and groans, low and anxious, because hell _yes_ he does, fuck, but that would miss the point of this whole--

" _No_ ," he gets out. "No! In your mouth. Wanna come in your mouth, Sam, jesus, don't make me--"

"I don't know," Sam says, thoughtful, licking the words into Dean's throat. "I think you could. I think you could spill it all out right now, hmm?" He presses into Dean’s crotch, quick and hard. "Yeah. You got a nice big load in there, don't you? Been saving it all day for me, huh. Yeah, you have."

"Stop," Dean says, humping against Sam's hand, and god, Dean thinks, he's gonna bust his zipper just from his brother's goddamn vocabulary. "Damn it, shut up! Just suck me, come on, please. _Please_."

Sam lets him go, leans back against the door, grinning, because he is a gigantic bastard. "Take it out," he says, just this side of dirty, "and maybe I will."

Dean's fingers are stupid, sluggish, because he hasn't been this turned on in ages and button-fly jeans are always a pain, no matter how sweet they make his ass look, and now, with stupid Sam sex-glowering at him from six inches away, said jeans are a goddamn Rubik's cube.

He lines up the colors just right, fucking finally, and his dick practically leaps out of his pants. He shoves his jeans down his hips, over his thighs, lifts his ass to--

"Stop," Sam says. "That's far enough."

It's not Dean's fault his cock really loves Sam's voice, that it does the high jump at the sound of it, especially when they're like this, all wrapped up and alone. Sam laughs at him, low, and shoves a hand in Dean's hair.

"Go on," Sam says. "Touch yourself. I can see how bad you want to. Go on. Get your dick ready for me."

Dean wants to say: that's fucking ridiculous. If he gets any harder, he's gonna lose it all over his thighs, his shirt, before Sam can even get a hand on him.

But something else Dean has learned is that sex with Sam makes him stupid, strips his own vocab down till all he can do is babble and do as he's told. Which maybe ain't that bad a thing.

He clutches his cock, and oh fuck, it's hot, flushed and drawn tight, and--

"Oh," Sam says. "Wait wait. Hold on."

He plucks Dean's hand off his dick, WTF, _jesus_. Pulls Dean's fingers to his lips and sticks out his tongue.

"Shit," Dean says, helpless as Sam laps at his hand, sucks on his fingers one by one. "Shit, Sammy, oh my god, what?"

Sam just grins, his eyes shining in all the damn dark. "There," he says, nudging Dean's hand away, towards his cock. "Come on. Get your dick nice and wet."

Some sound comes out of Dean's mouth, whatever it is, fuck it, he doesn't know, but it's good, really good, especially when Sam picks it up, echoes it as Dean curls his fist around his cock and starts jerking.

"Jesus," Sam says, breathless and beautiful, his voice damp in Dean's ear. "You needed that, huh? Needed a hand on your dick so damn bad. Look how hard you are for me, Dean, _fuck_."

Dean's brother is a genius, except when he's a moron. "Not gonna be hard much longer, asshole," Dean hisses, "gonna come, you stupid son-of-a--"

And then Sam tumbles, falls over like King Kong off the Empire. He pushes Dean towards the wheel and folds over, gets that big gorgeous mouth on Dean's cock. Pins Dean to the seat with his body, his tongue.

"Yeah," Dean says, twisting his hands in Sam's hair. "Yeah, fuck, baby. Like that. Take my cock."

Sam doesn't hold back, which is fucking amazing. He works his head in Dean's lap, one arm around Dean's waist and the other braced on his thigh, and he's so damn loud about it, too. Fuck, Dean loves that, when Sam goes to town on his dick like this, flinging spit everywhere and moaning so loud the seat's shaking with it and letting Dean's balls smack his chin and then Dean can't hear anything, nothing but the noise in his own head, the sound of his own voice in his ears:

"Gonna come. Gonna come, baby, oh"--he torques his hips, knots his nails in Sam's curls--"gonna fill you up, yeah, I am, Sammy, fuck, you feel good. Feels so good to fuck you, that pretty mouth of yours, baby, fuck. _Fuck_ , I'm gonna--" 

He comes hard and loud and long, because _shit_ , feeling Sam swallow always does that to him, makes it twice as good as a hand job, even though those are pretty spectacular, too. 

Huh, he thinks, vague, like he always does after Sam sucks him, I wonder what'd be like to fuck him. 

They haven't gotten to that yet, is what Dean figures. Hell, it's only been a month, right? When and if they want to, they will. They'll figure it out.

Sam sits up while Dean is still spinning, sits up and kisses Dean, deep and messy.

"I need to come," he says, sounding desperate, and ok, maybe Dean feels a little smug about that. "You don't have to do anything, ok, I just need to--" He rips his zipper down, the noise like a car crash. "Oh," Sam says as he yanks his dick out. "Oh _shit_ , Dean." 

Sam crowds into him, his mouth on Dean's neck as he works himself hard, his knuckles banging into Dean's ribs. "So hot. So fucking hot when you come like that, god--"

Dean reaches up, jello fingers on Sam's cheek. "In your mouth? You like it when I come in your mouth?"

He can freaking hear Sammy clench, feel him skate right to edge, the heat of his cock bleeding into Dean's side. "Yes. _Yes_. Want you in me."

"Wanna fuck you," Dean murmurs, slurring the words in Sam's hair. "Wanna bend you over and get my dick so deep in you, Sammy, that you --"

Sam freaking roars, whoa, like Tony the Tiger or something, and spurts all over Dean's side. 

"Oh, you like that idea, huh," Dean says, and Sam jerks again, groaning, sends heat seeping into Dean's shirt, over his stomach, down his thighs. Dean hums, rubs his hand on Sam's neck. "Yeah, you do."

They kiss for a while, lazy and slow, until Sam's eyelids flutter and then close. Stay closed.

Dean tosses a shirt over his brother's lap to cover the worst of the damage. Buttons up his own jeans and turns the key.

By the time they make the highway, Sam's asleep again, his head pitched on Dean's thigh. He's snoring. He'll probably drool, too, before it's all said and done. They're both a mess, covered in sweat and come, and bonus, the car's gonna need cleaned up, too. It’s three o’clock in the morning and Dean’s got another four hours of driving ahead of him, at least. They don’t know what they’re walking into--a werecat? a spirit with feline-like tendencies? a bear?--and Bobby is still pissed at them for that vamp thing in Boise. Which was so not their fault.

But the best thing Dean has learned is that sex with Sam makes him happy, period. And everything else, by comparison? Well. They’ll figure it out.

So Dean leans back behind the wheel. Breathes in the night air, tangles a hand in Sam's hair, and aims them both straight on towards morning.


End file.
